


Chéri

by stormcity (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Friendship/Love, Ice Skating, Rivalry, Sports, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stormcity
Summary: You were angelic, but devilish. Sweet, but setting fire to everything you touched.You were as brilliant a skater and socialite as Viktor Nikiforov, but as strict a ballerina and instructor as Lilia Baranovskaya.Should one compare your life to an ill-tempered, dirty-mouthed Russian punk and prodigy, laughably distinct differences could be pointed out.The world of skating is a blur to the young, but not so to the more seasoned of professionals.Yakov hated you, because his young skater had fallen madly.You're left with a choice, to either sink into the Eros and Agape that circle you like vultures, or play on the feelings of others--something you were quite adept at.After all, an angel can pluck down a fairy any day.{updates when I feel like it}





	Chéri

The rink was emptying, judges were still mingling, and Yakov was talking to someone.

Yuri hardly remembered the final competition, even though he was watching like everyone else.

It was mostly her fault, though. (Y/N) speculated the whole event at the edge of the rink, quiet--alone.

Her presence wasn't unnoticed, though. Not even by the announcer.

"What's this? (Y/N), legend of the women's singles, is cheering on Swiss contestant, Christophe Giacometti!"

Yuri's eyes, though she was unaware, hadn't left her since she was first called out.

It was something about her pure energy and smile--heavy eyelashes fluttering about as she stood supporting a fellow skater.

(Y/N) even appeared a few times on the jumbotron--kind, angelic features broadcasted in a brief close up to the audience.

"That (Y/N). What is she doing here?" Yakov grumbled.

He had a bone to pick with her, mostly because of each year, she plucked the gold away before any Russian girl could react.

(Y/N's) peerless skating in the senior division was embittering to the old coach.

"She's so pretentious." Yuri had blurted out once, just to impress his coach with negativity towards her.

But Yuri knew (Y/N) wasn't like that.

"There you are." Yakov said after Yuri had returned from the restrooms.

That Yuuri from Japan was a creep, he concluded. Yuri bit his lip, wondering if anyone passing the door had heard his outburst.

"Loser!" Yuri shouted after the assault on the contestant's bathroom stall.

Yuri blinked up at the taller figure who approached from behind him. A thin hand clasped onto the young skater's shoulder.

"Yuri. You did well tonight, but I still think your step sequence could use a little more finess-

Yuri cut him off, throwing his head back in exasperation,

"I won didn't I? So who really cares! Stop nagging me already."

You turned your head away from the person you were talking to and smiled gently. It's hard not to laugh when his coach immediately begins to lay into him.

"Yuri! Shut it!" Yakov started.

When your eyes met the speaker's, you recognized him immediately. Yuri Plisetsky, the gold medal finalist of the Junior Grand Prix.

"Y-Yuri!" You called out, waving at him.

He had lazy, silky blonde hair and a petite stature--eyes colder than the ice he skated.

Hearing your voice call his name melted the mean indifference from off of his features.

Your sweet smile pricked at his heart, too.

However, only Victor responded, smiling at you in return.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Lovely skating today, da?"

You continued to wave, eyes still expectantly fixed onto Yuri as they passed by.

He gave you some sort of astonished look, more than anything. But, it was only for a moment.

Yuri grit his teeth as a blush erupted across the bridge of his nose.

Ignoring you, he pulled his hood closer to his head and stormed off to the front of his company and out of sight.

Victor shrugged at you apologetically and smiled as he waved a goodbye. The Russians exited the venue.

You sighed softly.

Earlier that afternoon, you won your fourth consecutive Grand Prix Final, putting you up there with the legend Victor Nikiforov.

Would you stay another year? Who knew. You had just turned 23, the same age of that poor soul who tumbled to last place in the men's singles.

Was it Japan he was representing? You'd forgotten.

You had only decided to attend the men's final because Christophe would die without your support.

Your head was throbbing, and you thought you could really go for a cup of coffee on the flight back to France.

The venue was partially empty--but announcers, contestants, and coaches still lingered.

You spotted Christophe exiting the rink in the little cluster of people that began hovering toward you.

Vivacious green eyes took ahold of yours, lanky arms then swinging flagrantly across your shoulders.

You pursed your lips as Christophe pressed his face into your bosom, pretending to sob bitterly.

"Oh, (Y/N) my sweet." He pulled away, grinning at you coyly.

With that, he unlooped the silver medallion from off his neck and brushed it against your lips.

"I'm sorry it's not gold."

Chris pouted dramatically.

You smiled too, patting the top of his head.

"I'm sorry it's not gold, either."

"Gwa!?" Christophe suddenly exclaimed, taken aback by your jab.

* * *

 

Yuri glanced beside him. Victor had drifted off, cheek pressed against the window. His breaths were slow and soft.

Yuri then lifted his chin to get a view of the passenger seat. Yakov was asleep too from the long day. The dreary black hat that he usually wore sat in his lap, bald head reclined comfortably in the seat.

He snored deeply.

"Psht." Yuri scoffed to himself, staring down at the soft glow of his phone.

His face rested in his hand as he began to scroll through his Instagram feed.

No one really seemed to know that you were one of the few he exclusively followed.

He'd like everyone one of your photos. Of course, no one noticed--he was just another among the thousands of likes.

Sometimes he would take a glance at the pictures you took with other guys--normally with a twinge of annoyance.

"Yuri?" Mila would tease during practice, arms wrapping around him as she peered over his phone screen.

"I didn't know you were into older girls!"

All the other skaters practicing would stare at him from the rink, giggling and talking indiscriminately.

"Hag! Shut up!" Yuri snarled.

He inwardly feared that he would no longer be taken seriously if everyone found out about his feelings for (Y/N).


End file.
